How to buy a Morris Minor Pt3

(Back to Part 2)
ELECTRICS

The Minors electrical system is incredibly simple, so there’s little you have to worry about apart from previous owners attempts to splice in stereos or security systems. But age doesn’t help things and the wiring may well have cracked while some of the connections will probably be getting temperamental now. The primitive nature of the electrical system also doesn’t lend itself to modern driving conditions, so it’s worth converting to an alternator for £95 if you’re anticipating using the car every day, as well as fitting halogen headlamps (£40) and an electric screen washer system (£30). Even if the car needs a complete rewire a new loom is just under £100, and fitting it doesn’t take long because there are so few connections.

CONCLUSION
As long as the monocoque is sound, any Minor can be revived, because parts availability is so good. But there will be very few Minors that haven’t received attention to the bodywork. Your mission is to ensure that any work that has been done is up to scratch. But there are few classics that are seen in everyday use more frequently than the Minor, and that’s for a good reason. Not only are they reliable, durable and easy to use, but with a few sympathetic upgrades they make a perfect alternative to a modern car.

Rear spring hangers rust away all too readily, but they can be welded up again.	Kingpin on front suspension wears rapidly unless trunnions are greased frequently.
Floorpans rust away, but excellent new ones can be bought. At least they're simple.	Clutch mechanism is mechanical and gets choked up with debris thrown up from road.
Doors will split at the top if quarterlights rather than handles are used to close them.	Brake servo is a popular mod but not as good as a decent disc brake conversion.
The front lever arm dampers leak. They're retained even if telescopics are fitted.	Early engines are athsmatic, later units are okay. The 1275cc swap is worthwhile.
Rear lever arm dampers also leak badly. Telescopic conversions are the way to go.	Trim is available new or secondhand for all versions of the Minor. Seats are often worn.

WHAT ARE THEY LIKE TO DRIVE? Early cars are infuriatingly breathless, so the minimum you should look for is a 948cc car. Even better are the 1098cc versions although a 1275cc powerplant is surprisingly good fun to pilot. Brakes are okay as long as you dont expect too much and the cars light weight means a bouncy ride and light steering. A car for the track it aint, but a Minor is so charming you cant fail to have fun.

WILL I FIT BEHIND THE WHEEL? Whether youre looking at a tourer, saloon, or Traveller, the interiors are spacious and comfortable. The Traveller has masses of space for load carrying too – in fact the estate version of the Minor could well be the most practical classic car available.

WHAT BODGES SHOULD I LOOK OUT FOR?
Cover panels on underside of floorpan
Electrical nightmares from bad DIY
Converted two-door saloons being passed off as genuine tourers

WHAT SHOULD I PAY? The number of permutations of the Minor available is truly bewildering, so check out the price guide of the latest issue of the magazine.

WHAT WILL INSURANCE COST ME?
Comprehensive cover for a £3000 1967 Morris Minor Traveller in Peterborough:
£341 for 25 years old, two years NCB, clean licence, 10,000 miles, only car, kept on driveway, club member
£83.43 for 42 years old, full NCB, clean licence, 3,000 miles, second car, garaged, club member.

How to buy a Morris Minor Pt2

(back to Part 1)

Series MM, 1948-52: sidevalve 918cc engine, single wiper, sunvisor, offside tail lamp and beige vinyl upholstery. 1950: four door, wing mounted headlamps, also interior light, cancelling trafficators, screen demisters, stainless steel window frames.

ENGINES
Unless you’re looking specifically for a sidevalve Minor you’re unlikely to stumble across one for sale. Although the engine is reliable, it’s pretty gutless and not very easy to source spares for. It can suffer as a result of owners not knowing how to maintain the engine properly. Exhaust valves burn out as a result of incorrect tappet adjustment because they’re not easy to set correctly. Timing settings can also be thrown by wear in the distributor (due to lack of lubrication),

The next engine fitted was the 803cc version of the A-series. Unless you’re happy to amble along at pedestrian speeds these units are best avoided.

Series II 1952-62: 803cc engine. 1954: Horizontal grille, sidelights on wings, body colour dash, central instruments. 1956: 1000, 948cc, close-ratio 'box,single piece screen, larger rear window, 6.5 gallon tank.

The first of the really usable engines was fitted to post-1952 cam, in the form of the 948cc A-series unit. Incredibly durable and reliable, these motors will rack up 150,000 miles quite happily and are the sweetest runners of the three A-series capacities used. When the unit does start to wear out the first signs will be exhaust smoke under power, noisy tappets and reduced performance – and its not that perky to start with. There may also be big-end knocks when the engine is started, timing chain rattle and an oil light that’s slow to go out because of the reduced oil pressure.

1962-1970: Series III 1098cc, revised 'box & clutch, 8in drums, raised final drive. 1963: toughened screen, larger indicators & rear lights. 1964: revised interior & ignition switch.

Which leaves the final – and most usable – version of the A-series. the 1098cc unit. The extra capacity makes the engine less stressed and the most able to cope with modern driving conditions although it ultimately still suffers from the same maladies as the 948cc.

If you’re not too worried about originality it’s worth putting a 1275cc powerplant in, as it just slots into the engine bay without any modifications. The gearbox should cope with a 1275 just as well as it does with a 1098cc unit – although it doesn’t actually cope that well with the smaller engine. The brakes would really need to be upgraded, but you could do the work yourself to keep the cost down to a minimum.

1953-71: Traveller, exposed ash framework, hinged rear seat, separate lower compartment for spare wheel and tools.

TRANSMISSION
Gearboxes are the weakest mechanical link in any Minor, with all the units fitted being weak and having syncromesh that gives up alarmingly easily – although none of the Minor derivatives were fitted with syncromesh on first gear. Once the teeth have become chipped the gearbox will become especially noisy and it will start jumping out of gear, especially second.

The only model that has reasonably good parts supply is the 1098cc car, with the 803cc and 948cc versions having very patchy availability. The casings themselves were different, with the 1098cc car having a ribbed unit while the earlier cars featured a smooth case. Gearbox parts supply for the sidevalve-engined cars is even worse, so don’t count on getting parts very easily. But if you’re looking for a replacement gearbox for a 1098cc car and you’re offered a decent Midget gearbox, your prayers have been answered because it’s the same unit.

MM Tourer 1948-53: rear sidescreens. 1951: wing mounted headlamps, renamed convertible, glass sidescreens. 1953-69: changes as Series II/III, 1956: plastic hood.

Some owners get round the parts supply situation and the inherent weakness of the gearboxes by fitting a Ford Sierra five-speed conversion kit, which costs around £1000 including fitting. As this gives a taller top gear it makes the car more usable with the ability to cruise at 80mph.

The rear axle and propshaft are pretty reliable, but at some point the differential will wear out. You can tell that replacement is imminent if the unit gets noisy when you lift off once up to speed, so expect to pay £300 for a rebuilt unit. That’s the same price as you’ll pay for a reconditioned gearbox.

STEERING & SUSPENSION

Trunnions and swivel pins at the front wear out unless they’re greased at least every 3000 miles or three months – although twice as often as this, if possible, is desirable. If they’re allowed to wear enough, the swivel pin will pull out of the trunnion altogether, although this will probably only happen at parking speeds when the loading on the suspension is at its highest. But with a new kingpin leg and both top and bottom trunnions costing just £75, it’s not the end of the world if both sides need to be replaced.

The rear suspension is quite primitive and doesn’t give the car great handling characteristics. The general consensus is that the most useful thing you on do is swap the lower arm dampers for telescopics, which will typically cost you £100 per side. But Matt isn’t convinced, as dampers can rub on tyres if the job isn’t done properly (brackets are welded rather than bolted on) and at the front, even if you go for telescopic dampers, the original lever arms will have to be retained. They’ll be drained and not acting as dampers anymore, but they have to stay because they act as a pivot point for the front suspension.

At the rear its also worth checking that the leaf springs are in good order – especially their front mountings. If you do decide to convert the front suspension to telescopic dampers, for which you’ll expect to fork out £75 per side, it’s also worth opting for an uprated anti-roll bar. But  if you’re strapped for cash then the first upgrade should be to the rear suspension.

WHEELS & BRAKES
Pressed steel wheels were fitted to all Minors as standard, and they don’t give any problems. A common swap is the 13in unit fitted to Midgets (Minor wheels were 14in diameter), but using the MG wheels doesn’t give problems.

Drum brakes all round was the norm for all Minors, and if in good condition the system is okay for the job. But it’s worth upgrading to disc brakes at the front for around £600 or fitting a servo (for £300 or so) to make things easier in modern traffic.

The brake master cylinder lives under the driver’s footwell and gets attacked by all the debris thrown up front the road. Consequently it suffers after a while and because it’s out of sight it’s also usually out of mind. But swapping old for new isn’t a problem and at just £50 for a new unit its not a costly exercise.

TRIM
Not only is just about everything available for the interior of a Minor, but none of it is very expensive. A new hood for a tourer is just £120 while a carpet set can be yours for £60 or so. Series I and II can were trimmed in leather while the later car had vinyl trim -but if you fancy a bit of hide in your later car it’s easily done, if not cheap at over £250.

Switchgear and instrumentation is also available, except for the Bakelite switches used on early cars. But plastic replacements can be bought which look the same and don’t disintegrate after a few years.
(Continued in Part 3)

How to buy a Morris Minor Pt1

This article first appeared in the March 2003 edition of Practical Classics and is reproduced by kind permission.
Please remember that any prices are obviously no longer current.

Matt Barwick, who helped with this feature, runs Malvern-based Matt's Morris Minor Services. He owns seven Minors, having raced, restored and run little else.

IN THE LATTER stages of World War II Alec Issigonis was working on a new family car for Morris. Called the Mosquito, this was to be an innovative car from one of the most ingenious of all designers. There would be a monocoque construction and a flat-four engine driving the front wheels. Coil spring and wishbone suspension would feature at the front and it would have rack and pinion steering. Then the piggy bank was raided and it was clear that a less adventurous design would have to be substituted – cue the 918cc sidevalve engine seen in the Morris 8 Series E, driving the rear wheels. The first prototype even retained the Series E’s dimensions, which meant that because of the space-robbing wings and sills, there was hardly any interior space. An extra four inches was spliced into the middle of the car and the Minor was born – or the poached egg, as Lord Nuffield called it when he first saw it.

The Minor made its debut in 1948, as the series MM, otherwise known as the low-light because its headlamps were mounted low down in the grille. The press and public went wild, all madly enthusiastic about the Minor.

Half the value of a good Traveller is in its wooden frame, so check carefully for rot.

At first it was available only as a two-door saloon or a convertible (the Tourer), but a year after the Series II had arrived (in 1952) an estate was introduced – the Traveller. The low-set headlamps had been relocated to the top of the front wings in 1949 and the four-door saloon had arrived onto the market a year later, so the main change for the Series II was the adoption of the 30bhp A-series 803cc overhead-valve engine in place of the 27.5bhp sidevalve unit that had previously been fitted. An impressive 176,002 MMs were built and 318.351 Series II’s; 18,000 of the Series II’s being examples of the Traveller.

Door base rots but it can be fixed. Decent replacement doors are now hard to find.

In 1956 there were major changes to the car, with the launch of the Minor 1000. Not only was a larger (37bhp 948cc) version of the A-series engine slotted beneath the bonnet, but the split windscreen became a single piece unit and a larger rear window was fitted.

By the time the 1098cc engine arrived in 1962, 644,679 Minor 1000s had been produced, of which 89,000 were Travellers. This includes 350 of what are some of the most collectable of all Minors – the lilac-painted Million of 1961, which was built to celebrate a million Minors being produced. The 1962-on Miller 1000 used a 48bhp version of the 1098cc A-series powerplant and the front drum brakes were increased in size to rein in the extra power. By the time production ceased in 1971, 480,825 copies of the 1098cc Minor had rolled off the lines, I08,000 of which were Travellers.

Check for sagging doors. It might be worn hinges or it could be due to rot in A-posts.

BODYWORK
It doesn’t matter how good a Minor looks on the surface – there’s a good chance it will he hiding major structural corrosion somewhere, because they rot from the inside out. It doesn’t really matter how good the car is elsewhere; if the car’s structure is shot its fit for parts only.

Thanks to excellent panel availability, if the outer panels look a bit ropey you needn’t be too concerned about sourcing replacements, although the cost will add up if a lot of work is needed. But if it looks tatty on the outside, there ’s a good chance that the monocoque to which they bolt is in need of some serious TLC – work that’ll be expensive.

Most panels available at decent prices so dont fret if the car needs the odd one.

Things potentially get even worse if it’s a Traveller you’re looking at, because the woodwork that gives the car such character is also a very expensive thing to fix when it starts to rot away. Because the timber is structural, repairing it can’t be put off and it’s not really possible to patch it up or do a section at a time. That means doing the whole lot in one go, which costs around £2000, so make sure there are no discoloured areas that suggest the work will need doing imminently. The wood should be rubbed down and revarnished annually.

This crossmember is crucial for strength. They rot but replacements are available.

Whether it’s a saloon, convertible or estate, the Minor has a lot of rust traps that need careful checking. The rear spring hangers arc one of the most important things to look at because repair is so complicated. A lasting repair can take up to a day for each side, but the whole underside needs close inspection -especially the rear chassis extensions and front chassis legs.

In the latter case these extend either side of the engine and have a habit of rusting from the inside out. Once you can see evidence of rot it’s time for the whole leg to be replaced, at a cost of £100. For some reason, cover panels on the underside of the floorpan were popular in the 1980’s – great for hiding problems but not so good at solving them. These will probably have been replaced by now, but if they haven’t, whatever original metal was behind them will probably have rotted away a long time ago.

Other common rot spots include the sills and the doors, the latter rotting along the bottom edge and across the underside. Finding original replacement doors for any Minor is difficult, although they can be rebuilt because good quality repair panels are available. Vans, pick-ups and four-door saloons used the same doors as each other while a different version was fitted to tourers, Travellers and two-door saloons. Whichever version you need you can expect to pay around £150 for a decent door.

There aren’t many panels that aren’t available for the Minor, so just about any car can be saved if it’s important enough – but the restoration of a really rough car would cost more than the car will be worth afterwards. That’s why many Minors are fit just for parts – there are so many about that unless they can be saved relatively cheaply its preferable to just buy a better example.

Most of the panels that are on offer are from the original tooling – crucial pressing, like the floorpans and crossmembers, which braces the whole shell, are common rot spots.

Because we Brits have a love of convertibles, and with an ever dwindling supply of good genuine examples, it’s possible to buy a kit to convert a two-door saloon into a drop-top. Done properly there’s no cause for concern. But not all cars are converted safely, and the other catch is that sometimes such conversions are passed off as genuine cars. To make sure you don’t get caught out, read the section on identifying marks.

(Continued in Part 2)

Philip Glenister on Morris Minors

If you ever need to give a French acquaintance conclusive proof that les rosbifs are completely bonkers — they will already suspect this based on our penchant for Marmite and driving on the left — then take them to see a Morris Minor Traveller. The sight of a half-timbered thatched cottage on wheels will clinch it, and send them into a paroxysm of shrugs, “incroyables” and pitying glances.

The tarmac of yesteryear was pounded by a fleet of odd little cars. The Traveller was so left-field that if it had been designed now, you’d think it was a wacky promotional idea for creosote or double glazing. The Reliant Robin three-wheeler not only looked as if it was about to topple over at the slightest bend but was legendarily slow. Jasper Carrott had a sketch where he played a traffic copper taking the details of a Robin as it inched past. “Did you get the registration number?” “Yeah,” said Jasper, “and the chassis number.”

Some small cars were funky, though. The Fiat Cinquecento was tiny but had enough residue of la dolce vita about it to be considered a style icon in the same way a Citroën 2CV had Gallic flair. And the Mini came complete with the smart cultural heritage of the Monte Carlo Rally (Scalextric even had a special Mini Rally set), The Italian Job and leggy birds from the King’s Road.

I’ve saved the best of these motors till last. The bubble car. Haven’t seen one on the road for many a year. Perhaps they’re no longer street legal. Many of them were built by Heinkel and Messerschmitt, which explained why the bubble looked like the cockpit of a bomber popped onto a few bits of left-over undercarriage. Didn’t even have a steering wheel — just a joystick.

As car design has become more homogeneous, it’s good to see there’s still room for quirky small vehicles — the various Smart cars, and the G-Wiz, which you hook up to the mains overnight (golf carts for city folk).

Though, as the joke goes, you would need a bloody long extension lead to get you round the M25.

Extracted from Things Ain’t What They Used to Be, by Philip Glenister, published by Sphere, £14.99. Copies can be ordered for £13.49 with free delivery from The Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0845 271 2135

Meldrew in a Minor

Richard Wilson, who played grumpy OAP Victor Meldrew in BBC1’s classic comedy series One Foot in the Grave, drove from Scarborough to Whitby for the first episode of Britain’s Best Drives.

The actor, who made the trip in a classic Morris Minor Traveller, was recreating the most popular journeys of the 1950s using only guide books and maps from that period.

During his trip via the North Yorkshire Moors, Wilson learned about the rise and fall of Britain’s seaside resorts as well as enjoying an ice cream outside Scarborough’s famous Harbour Bar; taking a toll road through Dalby Forest and checking out the Hole of Horecum, a mythical roadside wonder.

He also hears how the village of Goathland now lives a double life, thanks to the success of Heartbeat, and even takes a carload of Goths to Whitby’s historic abbey.

Other drives coming up later in the series are set in the Lake District, the Cornish coast, the Scottish Highlands, the Wye Valley and Snowdonia.

Canadian Million article

Jim Marr of Moncton will never forget his first car – a 1961 Morris Minor One Million, an anniversary model to commemorate the one millionth Minor built since production began in 1948.

The actual millionth Morris Minor was completed at the factory on Thursday, Dec. 22, 1960, and was given serial number 1,000,000. It was the first British car to reach this production total.

The next 349 Morris Minors were replicas of the original one millionth. All were given a lilac exterior, white leather interior, a silver commemorative plaque on the dash, and bonnet and boot (hood and trunk) badges with the number 1,000,000 replacing the customary “Minor 1000.” Otherwise, these cars were identical to the regular production two-door Minors with the 948 cc four-banger under the hood.

Of the “Minor One Million,” 320 were sold on the British market after being on display in dealers’ showrooms, 21 with left-hand-drive were shipped to Canada, and the remaining nine (also left-hand-drive) were shipped elsewhere.

Jim Marr might have owned the only one in New Brunswick. He bought his in 1966 and drove it over 200,000 miles. The actual millionth car is owned today by someone in Warwickshire, and probably the best preserved (#1,000,257) is the one owned by Bradburn & Wedge Ltd., a garage in Wolverhampton. It shows only 1,500 miles on the odometer.

The one million Morris Minors built between 1948 and 1961 represent a million stories waiting to be told. Toronto historian Mike Filey’s first car was a 1949 Morris Minor purchased for $50 when the car was 10 years old. It had only one option, “a heater, the fan of which was under the passenger seat. Turn the device on and the person sitting beside me would rise two or three inches. The car also had mechanical brakes, a set of flipper directional signals, and a constant aroma of burning oil.”

Now almost broke after paying for the car, Mike did manage to scrape together enough money to buy several cans of paint from Canadian Tire for a flashy do-it-yourself paint job. He mixed the paints together to create a unique shade of turquoise.

“As it happened the colour turned out okay, but the amount I had to work with wasn’t quite enough. When I reached the trunk area I realized I could never reproduce the colour I had created. What to do? Simple. I went back to the front of the car and pushed the paint toward the back of the car, hoping to move enough along to cover what was left of the original maroon colour.”

From the archives – The history of Abigail Pt. 2

So, here we were, 15 months since I last drove her, ready to hit the road. Just over £5,000 had gone west (yes, I know it isnt worth that now, where were you when I needed that advice?), and I still hadnt managed the interior. The dingy, cracked, soiled with I-dont-want-to-know-what, green plastic seats contrasted a little with the resplendent maroon paintwork, but what the hell, I was in lurve! Part way through my final year of University, I fell out with those who must be obeyed and departed for a new campus, 60 miles away on the other side of Doncaster. Asking Michelle to borrow her car for the duration seemed a tad optimistic, so Abby began the daily 120 mile round trip. Winter was keeping a hold longer than usual, and I considered whether I could balance a calor gas stove on my knees to keep out the chill. I promised myself a heater before the following winter and braved it through, but my schoolwork suffered from my fingers being unable to hold a pen until I had been in a warm classroom for 15 minutes. Most of my lecturers had fallen asleep within 15 minutes, so I was pleasantly surprised to pass out with a good degree at the end of the year.
Student life over, it was time to find a real job. I found a temporary job in London, and undaunted (well, Summer was officially here) began a daily commute in Abigail. After a couple of months, even in my most stubborn state I realised Abby wasnt enjoying herself, so I got some digs down there and trundled home up the A1 on weekends.

During the summer months, Abby was hauled into service as a holiday vehicle, and took me, Michelle, my son Matthew, and our intellectually challenged Dalmatian Buttons on various camping trips. Foreign holidays were a no-no, firstly, I had to finish paying back the bank for the car, secondly I had no one to car-sit, and thirdly, those green seats needed replacing… It was three weeks before…well, you get the idea. Gradually, I fell in with the other local moggaholics at the Lincs Branch MMOC, and Abby became a regular attendeee at their events too. In two summers, Abby took us touring in the Lake District, Cornwall, most of Wales, The Border Country and Essex, clocking up an average of 18,000 miles a year. On each anniversary, Abby was despatched back to Rob at Traveller Timbers for a revarnish, and the local garage began taking their holidays whenever the distinctive front of a Morris hove into view. As I cant stretch to a driveway, much less a garage, Abby lived (and still does) on the street outside my house, and the mileage was taking its toll. In her third summer with me I calmed her use down a bit, and after 3 years she had covered 42,000 in my care.

Show season in full swing, we departed one morning for Revesby, the Lincs Branch annual rally. Five miles into the trip I began to realise all was not well. A nasty rumbling noise was making itself heard, and we were having trouble getting up the hills without changing down. I wasnt overly concerned, the rally wasnt that far, and I knew the club resident guru would be on hand when we got there to diagnose the problem. Another five miles down the road and I was gradually becoming aware that we weren’t going to get there. Third gear became top, then second. A tailback began to form behind us on the twisty sideroads, and when a straight came people passed us waving with unusual gestures out of the windows. Being a nice sort of bloke, I waved back. Soon we hit the queues waiting for admission, and Abby was having serious trouble ticking over. Keeping the revs at about 2,500 rpm worked, but did nothing for the pople in the car behind. Fortunately, cars for the showground had a private entrance to avoid the queues, and Abby struggled through the gate, revving herself silly to climb out of each pothole. As we drove along the lane, we passed all the cars which had earlier passed us who were still queuing, which seemed an opportune moment to wave again. Limping into her assigned place, Abby took a deep sigh, farted politely, and breathed her last. Michelle and I beat a hasty retreat to the beer tent as some red faced people from the car park began asking who owned it. Several pints of best bitter and much head-scratching later, the guru, Roger, pronounced it Dead On Arrival (as if I needed his help to tell me that!) and began to arrange a trailer to get it back to his house. I wouldnt hear of it; the engine was cream-crackered anyway, and I would not suffer the indignity of leaving on a trailer, especially when he only lived a mile and a bit away. And thats how, at 5pm with everyone leaving the show, Abby began a first gear crawl out of the gates. Michelle said she recognised some of the cars we saw going in, but I’m not so sure… The journey took around 45 minutes, but it was with some satisfaction that I rolled up Roger’s driveway and turned it off for the last time. I got out of the car and smiled gamely at the red faced people going by, and began wondering how much I could raise if I sold my son to the slave trade. Various people at the show had offered me some engines of dubious history, but I couldnt do this work myself, and it seemed pointless paying someone to put in an engine only to find it as duff as the one we had just taken out. Besides, look at the mileage it covers. That was the reasoning I used on Michelle, and for once it worked. She still didnt talk to me for three weeks, though…

One week and £700 later, Abby was pronounced fit and well. We celebrated this occasion by going straight from picking it up to do the Northern National, covering just over 1,000 miles in a week. Amazingly, the new engine, running unleaded fuel, was returning better than 40 mpg, a 7-8 mpg improvement over the leaded fuel engine it replaced. I reasoned with Michelle that the engine would soon pay for itself, but you know women… Roger was now a firm pal (after all, I had paid for most of his holidays for the past year!) and being a useful sort of bloke, he brews his own beer. I had already taken the opportunity to partake of this poison while at the National for the previous two years, and can happily vouch for its ability to kill people. In some ways it resembled Roger himself; honest and unpretentious. You drank it, it knocked you over. Simple, huh? Following Roger to the Northern, we accepted an offer from the Yorvik branch to attend their annual barbeque on the Friday night, with the Northern starting on the Saturday morning. It seemed like a good idea to break the journey, so we went for it. Roger, being domesticated, takes a large plush caravan to all events. Me, being a heathen, I take a piece of canvas, some poles, and a lot of wishful thinking. The landlord of the pub was kind enough to let us stay in a field at the back on the premise we didnt let the horses out. Roger put the stabilisers down, while we set about beating the tent into submission. Just out of interest, have you ever seen a couple put up a tent without screaming at each other? I havent…. Sitting in Rogers caravan drinking tea, we idly watched as a horse came over and crapped on the side of the tent. Many hours later, new friends met and drunk with, we staggered tentwards. Being careful to close the gate behind us, we fell into bed. Then it began raining… I awoke first in the morning, and was about to perform my morning ritual behind a tree (isnt it funny why you never get invited back to the same place twice) when I noticed something. Or rather, the lack of something. No horses…. And the gate was open…. After kicking seven bells out of Rogers door I decided to go look for them. After all, it was a small village, wasnt it? That was how I came to be driving round the village in Abby, dressed in nothing but a pair of boots and a smile, shouting “Here, horsey, horsey” out of the window. Ten horseless minutes later, I returned for (a) help, and (b) clothes. As I got out of the car, I noticed the stable block adjoining the pub, with a familiar muzzle poking out of it. The landlord had apparently noticed it raining during the night, and taken the horses out to the stable. Well, why didnt he bloody tell me, then? Unable to resist such an opportunity, Roger told everyone we met at the Northern of my motorised streaking, and I was officially christened Trigger for the duration of the weekend. “I’m trotting off to the pub”, “Its neigh far”, “I’m off for a pony (rhyming slang)”, I heard them all that weekend. Somebody put an ad. in the Lincs newsletter offering a straight swap horse for Traveller with my phone number. Roger denies it, but I have my suspicions… Still, I had some nice offers…. Seriously, though, Abby and I love to get around to as many events as possible, the only proviso being that there must be camping facilities nearby. If you have a rally and for some insane reason fancy having a couple of drunks to laugh at all night, drop me a line and we will try to get to you. Just dont say you werent warned…

There is one guy I havent mentioned. I feel a little guilty but I cant for the life or me remember who he was. One the way to the ‘97 National Abby sputtered to a halt on the A1 near Peterboro’. I got out and scratched my head, but didnt have the faintest idea what to do. Fortunately, being National weekend, every few minutes another Moggy went by. One pretty saloon stopped, the driver listened carefully to my symptoms, and then produced a block of wood from his boot. One hard thump on the fuel pump later and he was gone, leaving Abby purring happily behind him. you know who you are; I am indebted to you. Oh, and by the way, that same fuel pump is still on!

From the archives – The history of Abigail

Abigail is my trusty 1968 Morris Minor Traveller, who (at the risk of seeming chauvinistic), is a typical woman. She comes over all petulant when I forget to praise her for a journey completed without mishap, sulks when I don’t wash her for a few days, and has fits of rage if I dare use my wife’s car instead. Having said that, when polished and dressed in her finery for a show, she behaves like a perfect lady. Somehow, Abby always runs better when clean(?), and has never, and I mean NEVER, failed to make her destination (although its been touch and go once or twice…)

You have to be a brave person to read Abby’s sordid history. Either that, or plain vindictive. To be fair, she was really beyond economical restoration when I first clapped rose-tinted eyes on her. On the other hand, I was to all intents and purposes a Morris ‘virgin’; young, naive, and with a healthy wallet (or as healthy as a wallet can be when owned by a University undergraduate). My wife had sent me out to buy a banger to go back and forth to my campus in, and furnished me with £300 to find such a vehicle. Full of the optimism of youth, and with the words “A fool and his money” ringing in my ears, I drove all the way from Lincoln to Wolverhampton to look at a £250 Mini. “One careful owner” assured the prospective vendor. Yeah, one careful and nine not so careful… Even my alarm bells rang, and after a cursory glance at the car we set off dispiritedly for home.
And there it was, a filthy Traveller peeking out from under a canopy up a driveway, with a time-yellowed FOR SALE sign in the windscreen. I remembered well those heady teenage days in my Traveller fifteen years previously, when its limited internal dimensions mattered not in the eternal quest for exploration of the female form, when MOT was an optional extra, and when pushing for half a mile to get it started was dismissed as a mere ‘foible’. In my defence, I was in full reminiscence mode. Surely, with a little time, and an even littler amount of my grant, this old lady could be restored to her former glory. Abby had been stood untouched for three years and a month, since failing her MOT on woodrot. Inspection of the frame showed the tester was lying; there WASN’T any bloody wood for it to fail on! Plastic wood, body filler, a vintage copy of The Sun, and some spongy stuff that might once have been part of a tree; it all crumbled away to my tender touch.

Hitching a battery up started it in only three turns of the motor, and to an accompanying squeal of seized metal, we gingerly rolled it down the drive, revealing an ominous dark patch on the tarmac. Each wheel came off in turn while the drums suffered the attentions of a hammer, and the brakes were free. I say brakes in the loosest possible terms, as stopping necessitated changing down to second gear, yanking hard on the handbrake, and much praying for salvation. Once around the block, and Abby petered to a halt back on the driveway, just 4″ short of demolishing the canopy she had been hiding under. If I had known then what I know now, I would probably have run into it, both to exact some revenge on the cheerful owner, and to see whether the carport or the car came off worse. The owner was no fool; he saw the look in my eyes and steadfastly refused to budge from the £350 asking price. I started on a game attempt to haggle him down (I can’t BELIEVE I said “It needs a new tyre”) but soon gave up and called it a deal. As we shook hands, I caught a glimpse of my wife’s horrified expression as she sat in her car at the end of the drive. That was before I told her that I needed another £50 to cover the price. It was three weeks before she spoke to me… Some fresh 4-star was hastily decanted, and Abby and me set off for home. I am embarrassed to say the first stop was at the nearest fuel station, where a tow-rope was purchased “…just in case…”, but the journey was completed without incident, unless you count the ignominy of being overtaken by a Reliant Rialto on the way. Two hours after arriving home I commenced polishing the few bits of paintwork I could find, while the neighbours began a petition to have it towed away.
I neglected to point out earlier that I have the mechanical ability of your average house-fly, so it sat outside all weekend, and on the Monday morning I drove it to my local friendly mechanic. He immediately refused to let it in the workshop on the grounds it would either infect the cars around it with rust, or infect the building with woodworm. He begged with me to scrap it, pleaded even, but finally relented when faced with a blank cheque (little did he know, but filling it in for more than £100 would have resulted in it being returned to him). The job was accepted on the strict conditions that (a) I mustn’t visit or phone about it for three months, (b) that similarly blank cheques would be despatched on demand, and (c) when I saw him in the pub, it was always “my round”. What could I do? It was a generous offer, and he knew it.

And so it began. I sold my soul to the bank manager and managed to get the first cheque cleared for £500. Six weeks later, the garage phoned and asked for more. I sold my hi-fi and my PC, and considered selling the wife. It was three weeks before she spoke to me… A part time job seemed the only answer, but I had to fit it in around lectures. I found a job doing nights as a security guard, and soon fell into the lifestyle of Uni all day, home for tea and a nag from the wife, then taking a sleeping bag out to sit in her car on some derelict building site all night. Two weeks later they fired me. Apparently, I had had two site visits during the night from the office, but both times they had given up and gone away after pelting the car with stones through the fence trying to wake me. They were right, too; on inspection Michelle’s car was covered in tiny pockmarks. It was three weeks before she spoke to me… The garage refused to do any work on the car without cash in advance, and my timescale, horribly unrealistic at best, seemed doomed. Eight months after entering the workshop, Abby finally made it back onto her wheels, and rolled out into the cold hard light of day. Of course, she looked a little odd, canted up at the front with having no engine or gearbox in, absolutely bereft of paint on any surface whatsoever, and missing anything higher than the floor rear of the drivers door. But to me, she looked lovely. Considerably more than £2,500 after taking up residence, at least the primer looked nice… Another £100 later, Abby was despatched to Hull on the back of a lorry for woodwork. Rob, the guy who runs Traveller Timbers, promised to look after her for the two weeks of her stay, and true to his word, sent her back on the same lorry with a pretty new frame. Suitably inspired, the garage wheeled her back in and commenced work on the engine. Meanwhile, Michelle and I were leafing through a Dulux catalog looking for inspiration. She chose snowberry white, I chose maroon b. Well, it was my car… It was three weeks before she spoke to me… The anniversary of my ownership came and went, and still no sign of hitting the road. A date was set, 8 March, my own birthday. This was going to be D-Day. Late into February the money ran out again, but in the hope of finally getting rid of it, the garage persevered. On the 7 March, Abby tootled off to the MOT station, where after some attention, she sailed through. Back to the garage for some final rubbing down of paint, while I busily made plans for the following day. Bright and early on my birthday, I went to pick her up, only to find a 40 tonne crane broken down blocking the entrance (I kid you not; look at the article!) The driver told me it would be three hours before his mechanic would arrive to deal with its locked on brakes, and I was furiously looking round for Jeremy Beadle. Michelle thought it was hysterical, and promptly phoned the local newspaper who also came and laughed a bit before taking my distraught picture and a few well chosen words for the late edition. It was three weeks before I spoke to her…

Keeping your cool in the Minor

It’s the middle of summer, your perspiration drips like a river and your car’s interior is like the furnaces of hell. Your car overheats, stalling in the middle of the road.

You have a problem with your cooling system, mate.

Your car’s cooling system should remove the excess heat from your car’s engines, keeping the engine operating on the most efficient temperature settings, and allowing the engine to reach its ideal operating temperature at the shortest time possible.

In its ideal sense, the cooling system should keep the engine running at its most efficient temperature even at the most punishing operating conditions thrown at it.

As fuel is burned, energy is released. If there is no cooling system, the heat from the fuel would melt the parts, and the pistons would expand so much that they would not move inside the cylinders.

The cooling system of a water-cooled engine consists of:

the engine’s water jacket
thermostat
water pump
radiator and radiator cap cooling fan
hoses
heater

Burning the fuel produces a large amount of heat; temperatures can reach up to 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit if the right fuel/air ratio is reached. The cooling system removes as much as 1/3 of the heat generated by the fuel combustion.

You car’s engines are cooled by liquid circulating inside tubes lined inside the engine compartment. Liquid cooled engines have passages for the liquid, or coolant, through the cylinder block and head. The coolant has to have indirect contact with such engine parts as the combustion chamber, the cylinder walls, and the valve seats and guides. Running through the passages in the engine heats the coolant (it absorbs the heat from the engine parts), and going through the radiator cools it. After getting “cool” again in the radiator, the coolant comes back through the engine. This business continues as long as the engine is running, with the coolant absorbing and removing the engine’s heat, and the radiator cooling the coolant.

A cooling system pressure tester is used to check the pressure in the cooling system, which allows the mechanic to determine if the system has any slow leaks. The leak can then be found and fixed before it causes a major problem.

Common cooling system problems:

1. Broken tubing. Hoses and tubing wear out and leak coolant fluid. Once the coolant has left the system it can no longer cool the engine and therefore the engine will over heat.

2. Broken fan belt. The water pump is driven by the engine through a fan belt. If this belt breaks the water pump can not turn and coolant will not be pushed through the car engine. This will also lead to the engine overheating.

3. Damaged radiator cap. The radiator cap is designed to hold a certain pressure in the coolant system. This pressure raises the point in which the coolant will boil and maintains a good, stable system. If your cap does not hold enough pressure, then the car engine could overheat on hot days since the system never becomes pressurized.

4. Water pumps failure. Most commonly you will hear a horrible screeching noise and will be able to see engine coolant leaking from the front of the pump or underneath the car. Often there are early signs of trouble with small spots of coolant under the car after being parked overnight and a strong coolant smell whilst you are driving.

5. Head gasket… Do you have large amounts of white smoke flowing out of your exhaust? Then you could have a problem with your head gasket. The head gasket seals the cylinder head to the engine block and also seals the coolant passages. When this gasket fails coolant can enter the cylinder and it will be turned to vapor as the engine fires. Head gaskets most often fail after the engine has overheated in the past. When very hot, the cylinder head can warp and prevent the engine head gasket from sealing properly.

Preventive Maintenance on Engine Cooling Systems

1. Check all belts and hoses regularly. (At oil change is a good time)

2. Look out for coolant leaks underneath the car; they could be signs of trouble to come.

3. Change your coolant regularly.

4. Inspect your radiator cap for deterioration of the rubber seal. Replace if you think it is worn.

5. Have your coolant system flushed. It gets all the corrosion which has built up out of the system.

From the archives – Caravanning

I’ve recently noticed this old thing on a couple of other websites and so decided to put it back online myself. Anyone else claiming to have written this (although its pretty awful, so I’ve no idea why anyone would want to!) is telling you porkies – I’m proud embarrassed to admit that I’m the original author!

Here we are; mid March and Summer approaching fast. Up and down the country, sad oiks are dusting off the covers and readying the caravan for competing in the Round Britain Block The Road Rally. Much as I might sneer now, I used to be a member of this fraternity. Read on for the grisly details…
Salesmen of every persuasion first have to learn the art of ensnaring the punter, and the guy they are looking for is me. A huge pile of evidence points to the fact that you could easily sell me absolutely anything, and so it was on the day I went to look at a Ford Fiesta for sale from the local newspaper. Hidden at the back of a huge lot, the Fiesta snuggled neatly next to a grotty old caravan. I liked it, so did Michelle, the price wasn’t too bad, surely a done deal? However, the salesman spotted me cautiously eyeing the caravan, and like all good salesmen, instantly recognised there were bigger fish to fry here… Just took it in part exchange, he told me. Nice old thing, just needs a little tidying up. Still, I had a line of defence; the Fiesta wasn’t big enough to pull it. No problem, said the salesman, I have this lovely Cortina estate. Just took it in part exchange….Oh dear…The Cortina was nice (remember this was back in the days when a Cortina could be nice) but well outside my budget, even before the caravan. In full swing by now, the salesman just happened to have a special offer on finance. And so, an hour later, I set off from the site in my new Cortina estate with caravan in tow, feeling a little dazed. The salesman had pointed out that he also did a nice line in caravan accessories, and waved me off in the secure knowledge that he hadn’t quite finished with this fish yet. Just two days passed before I hove into view again, and the salesman rubbed his hands in glee. The caravan snaked about too much, I told him. It needed some sort of stabiliser.

And so began my experience with Elide® (name changed to protect the guilty) caravan accessories. Not only did he sell me the stabiliser, he even fitted it. Weird looking contraption, looked like a sprung bar sticking out from the front of the caravan with a rubber prod on the end of it. I drove away happy my troubles were over. If I but knew… Several days later, I noticed a draught while driving the car. Inspection at the back revealed that the innocent looking rubber prod sheathed a steel tube, which had punched a neat round hole in the Cortina’s tailgate on some long forgotten bend. We decided to spend a weekend away in our new rig, and took Michelle’s new puppy with us for company. An hour after retiring to bed, the puppy discovered to its glee that its tiny body weight was enough to upset the equilibrium of the van, and that running from one end to the other flat out produced a nice see-saw effect. Another forty five minutes and we were seasick 30 miles inland from the nearest coast. Michelle wanted to have some legs fitted, while I preferred the cheaper alternative of nailing the puppy down. Another visit to the used car lot resulted in us having a set of Elide® caravan legs fitted, which wound neatly up and down on demand. At least they did, until the unfortunate occasion when I forgot to wind them up and created an impromptu firework display as they wore themselves to oblivion on the A1.

For convenience, we had an Elide® automatic doorstep fitted. This device was hung under the caravan, and counterbalanced to slide out whenever the door opened. However, this thing had a mind of its own, and would cheerfully leap out and attack any shins within radius, door open or otherwise. We took to listening out at night on unlit campsites, waiting for passers by to come along, and then sniggering under the blankets at the muffled curses immediately following the dull thud. An Elide® automatic welcome home light was fitted, which happily lit up half the Southern Hemisphere but singularly failed to cast even a shadow on the doorstep. It didn’t matter; shortly afterwards we discovered the doorstep had popped out on a Motorway, met the tarmac moving past at 60mph, and torn itself from its mountings. As a leaving present, it ripped a two inch wide jagged hole along the rear edge of the caravan… In fairness, the Elide® light showed this up nicely.

In fact, too nicely. This device wasn’t fitted with an on-off switch, and was wired into the caravans main electrics. As this thing was fitted with one of those infra red movement detection wotsits, this meant that towing the caravan at night produced the interesting effect of a third headlight, but this one pointing down and sideways. Any unfortunate motorist overtaken by this thing was instantly blinded by a half million candle power light shining directly through his driver’s window, and in the interests of road safety we smashed the bulb in. This caused the caravan electrical system to go on strike in solidarity with its fallen comrade, and a visit to the Elide® dealer was in order. In light of past experience, we tested the new electrics before leaving the dealer, but all remained well until 5.01pm when the dealer closed for the night. Then we discovered (with the help of the local Constabulary) that indicating right on the car indicated left on the caravan, turning on the sidelights resulted in every bulb being lit on the caravan (including both indicators, the fog and reversing lights, and the toilet cubicle courtesy light inside), and that indicating left flashed them all. The effect could be cured, though. Braking caused every one of them to go out…

The salesman fixed it, and much to his obvious chagrin could find nothing to charge us for on this visit. Some weeks later, touring in Scotland, we were overtaken by a familiar looking 10″ wheel on the motorway. Dumbstruck, we pointed it out to each other, just as the caravan began a vain battle to tear itself from the back of the car. Inspection revealed that the centre of the wheel was still attached to the caravan; it had simply ripped in a neat circle around the wheel nuts. I didn’t really need to go and find the wheel to know that the familiar Elide® logo was stamped into the metal… The next weekend we were going to go away again, and during the week we had the caravan checked out fully by the salesman (who rubbed his hands a lot) and packed it out with all our gear. Late on the Friday night I spotted an ominous glow out of my front room window…. The fire service arrived just in time to put out the two adjoining cars, but of the caravan there was only one wheel arch and the chassis. Faulty gas regulator, said the fireman, was it an Elide®?

What do I do now? Well, I know when I’m beat. I’ve bought a tent…